


LA devotees

by kindaeccentric



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon Urie In Heels, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindaeccentric/pseuds/kindaeccentric
Summary: the film noir fic starring:-Ryan Ross as byronic hero and a journalist investigating the case of mysterious disappearence of the lounge singer Pete Wentz-homme fatale vamp Brendon-Tyler Joseph as the owner of a nightclub called 'Blurryface'-Patrick Stup as a reasonable bartender-Hayley Williams as a quirky waitress-Josh Dun as an international businessman-Way brothers as a gambler and an amoral attorney-Dallon as a corrupt politician-Gabe Saporta as a snarky detective& others...And all that in blinding sun of the day and neon lights of the night in the City of Angels.(disclaimer: the tags will be changing with the addition of next chapters, the rating will change also)





	

**Author's Note:**

> if you see any typos or badly written sentence it means I was tired as hell
> 
> beginning with a short chapter, because my writing skills are lame

It seemed like Los Angeles was losing the original glory, and started to become it's own pale, tired reflection. The city still looked pretty, but an eye of a local could spot the signs of stagnation, which usually precedes the decay. The city was like an old-era actress, who used to be classy, but after several plastic surgeries and years of never letting a glass of martini out of hand could already retire, yet stubbornly tries to pull off a few more roles and tells the same anecdotes in every interview. 

At least, that's how Ryan, a young journalist, seen it. He moved there from Las Vegas hoping for a taste of that famous luxury, but all he found were all-round bars, tanned, blonde tourists and less interesting topics to write about, than one would expect from such a giant city. 

The luck finally smiled to him when his boss required an article on disappearance of a lounge singer, Pete Wentz. Nobody could take that subject except for him and Jon, but since Jon was consisered by chief a better reporter, he was sent to investigate the case of embezzlement of local political Dallon Weeks. Ryan would feel insulted, if he hadn't gotten what he wanted. 

Pete Wentz was not popular, not in a celebrity sense. He was not that good of a singer. Yet, there was a group of people, that knew him. The angels with dirty faces, that dwelled in the red caves of simple pleasures at night… Hookers, bartenders, members of cover bands, strippers, gamblers and probably even local petty criminals-they all honesty adored the man. 

Ryan wouldn't admit that, even to himself, but the company of these people was exactly the adventure his hungry, raging heart needed. 

He was standing in front of a little, unappealing motel, which rented rooms for hours and from the look of it one could suspect it still has asbestos in the walls. His black sunglasses reflected the orange light of sunset over the Hollywood hills. Paired with the smoke from his cigarette, the picture was melancholic and hazy, almost poetic if you were a dreamer. 

Ryan waited for the person, who was an obvious choice for the beginning of the whole investigation. He dropped and put out the cigarette upon seeing a refined, blonde woman in a white dress approaching him. 

Ashlee was Pete’s ex-wife and quite a popular actress. Her career skyrocketed when she divorced him and she chose such an obscure place to meet, because she didn't want rumors connecting her to him again. She greeted the journalist coldly, but became quite talkative when they sat in a closed room. He didn't even have to ask her many questions. She seemed to derive pleasure from uncovering the dirty secrets of her past lover and Ryan couldn't even blame her. It was very a very human thing to do from someone who got disappointed in a person, who promised things to you at the altar. 

‘Pete is a good man. Delusional, but good. He doesn't have enemies,' she began, but quickly added, 'But he knows some shady individuals. That's one of the reason why I divorced him in the first place. And because he wasn't faithful. Well, neither of us exactly was. I don't think he truly loved me. He tried, but... I wasn't what he really wanted. I have some ideas though... Anyway... If I was to point fingers, I would start with his closest friends. They have to know what truly happened to him, because, between you and me, I don't believe in what people say, you know, that he's dead or something. He's too smart to get himself killed.' 

Ryan nodded in acknowledgement. After reading every piece of information he collected on the subject from police, he started to be under impression, that the whole thing is more complicated than that himself. He couldn't tell what exactly makes him think that, but the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit at all or fitted too well. He hoped for Ashlee to indicate the direction he should move towards, but so far she wasn't very helpful. 

She seemed to read that in his face, sighed deeply, shifted in her seat uncomfortably and looked around the room before she opened her mouth again. 

'His friends are a... specific company. They won't talk to you just like that. Police probably didn't even bother to interview them thoroughly, because they give evasive answers to everything. But... I actually care about Pete, Mr. Ross. I need to know what is going on. I even hired a private detective, but they don't trust him. I'm asking you to collect information not only for your article, but also for me.' 

Ryan should have known, that nothing in this world is for free. He kind of even suspected that. And knowing what he did about Ashlee he had to know her motives aren't as benevolent as she tried to present them. The truth was, she got married second time and always had an eye on Pete, not to bring out some nasty receipts from her past and when she lost track of him, she started to panic. He smiled to himself wryly. 

'All right, miss. I'll do whetever I can. But I would be grateful for some leads.' 

Visibly pleased, Ashlee crossed her legs and leaned in. 

'If you want Pete's friends to talk to you, you need a guide of sorts, someone they trust, someone from the circle. Become close with that person. It may be tricky, but still easier than gaining trust of everyone. And if I may suggest... try Brendon.' 

'Brendon who?' 

'Oh, just Brendon. He never told me his full name, but I remember him. It's hard to forget such a spectacle. If he didn't change his habits, it should be easy for you to find him.’ 

 

 

Ashlee gave him a sticky note with an adress. He didn't recognize it right away, but when at night he stood in front of a bar, under a red neon light, he had no doubt it's the right place. The bar called ‘Blurryface’ and a club in it's basement were known for a collection of strange customers, who always occupied the locale. It wasn't a place for gentle hearts and clean hands. He stepped in without fear, not even having to fake the confidence. 

It was the middle of the week, Wednesday to be exact, and Ryan could feel the eyes of everyone there on him, unable to hide in a nonexistent crowd. The inside of the bar was dimly lit, with black walls, leather seats and red roses on the tables. It was giving a rather cheap boudoir vibe, but that was probably the intention anyway. By the mirror bar, behind the counter, stood a short, blonde bartender mindlessly drying a glass with a towel like a living stereotypical image of his kind. Ryan stepped up to him and asked politely about a man called Brendon. The bartender chuckled, but when he realized Ryan is serious he shook his head and sighed. 

‘You're probably the fifth person asking for him today. And every day. And I'll tell you the same thing I say to everyone… Who the hell knows?’ 

Ryan felt a tap on his shoulder and when he turned around he saw a pretty waitress with flaming red hair smiling to him sweetly. 

‘Looking for Brendon?’ 

‘Hayley, don't…’, whined the bartender behind Ryan's back. 

‘I would try in the bookstore across the street. Sometimes he sits there and observes people getting in and out of the bar.’ 

‘Isn’t it closed right now?’ 

‘Not for him. Just go there, tap at the door and see if he opens.’ 

The bartender sighed again theatrically. 

‘Don't encourage him.’ 

The girl didn’t listen and clucked disapprovingly. 

‘Look at that pretty face, Patrick. If I was Brendon I would give him a chance.’ 

 

 

Ryan didn't ask what the thing was about. They probably wouldn't explain to him anyway. He knew he actually got lucky, that this woman helped him, because his original plan included camping in that bar until said Brendon comes along. He wasn't even sure if he’d recognize him, despite Ashlee's reassurances. He walked out into the street and for a second, the moment he took a step to cross the road, he could swear he saw something moving in the dark bookstore window. He almost got hit by a passing cab and heard swearing in a language he didn't recognize from the inside of the car. This time he looked both ways before moving forward, even though he was already sure nothing else is going to show up and was quickly on the other side, fortunately not in a metaphorical sense. He approached the door and tried to see inside, but the glass was reflecting the light from the streetlamps and it was nearly impossible. He laid a hand on the door and hesitated. It wasn't smart to believe a waitress of a shady bar. He could have been robbed inside. Or worse. On the other hand, it was too complicated and fishy for petty criminals to come up with it. Too much effort for a few dollars. In the end he tapped on the glass gently with the tips of his fingers. Nothing happened for the next two minutes and he was starting to believe the waitress and bartender laugh at his naivety, but then the doorhandle moved. 

At first he saw only a hand with golden signet on one of the fingers pulling the door open slowly. The person inside reluctantly peeked out, showing only less than half of the face. 

The part Ryan could see was already intriguing, but unclear, barely one eye and a corner of the lips, flashing cherry red. He was almost sure his eyes are tricking him, because it could only be a lipstick. If he was holding anything, even a box with ancient china inside, he would definitely drop it seeing those lips curling into a smile and uncovering almost vampire-like teeth. 

‘Hi… Brendon? I was told…’ 

‘Come inside?’ asked the stranger softly and pushed the door further. Ryan saw a slim man in a fitted, black suit, but then his brain caught up and registered the unusually full lips, that made his heart skip a beat just a moment before. On a woman they would be a sign of beauty. The strand of straight, raven-black hair was falling on one of the fawn-like eyes of the stranger and Ryan couldn't bring himself to say anything, because Brendon’s silhouette was bathed in the soft, golden light like the figures of saints in a church, yet the sharp contrast of his pale skin with the dark elements framing his face and boldly red lipstick pushed it rather towards the demonic imagery. 

Brendon stepped back, but left the door open and Ryan didn't think twice before entering. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but the whole mysterious aura and weirdness seduced his senses quickly and ruthlessly. 

When Ryan's eyes got used to the darkness he walked up to the window where Brendon was standing, and they both looked across the street. He could even see the red hair of the waitress in a reflection on the mirror behind the bar. 

‘Hayley told you, didn't she?’ 

Brendon’s voice was nice, strong, but not overly deep, smooth for the ears. His eyes glimmered. Ryan tried not to stare and remembered what he actually came for, but Brendon was looking at him with unflagging interest. He swallowed hard and ruffled his own hair, that, not cut for too long, began to curl again despite his best efforts. 

‘Yes. But the bartender wasn't pleased.’ 

‘I can imagine. Patrick is very protective towards me. Well, not only him… Why did you look for me? And who are you?’ 

Ryan's mind immediately switched to profesional mode, even though the atmosphere of the silent, dusky room wasn't particularly helping it and looking down he noticed Brendon isn't wearing any shoes, but his feet are clothed in transparent, smooth material. He could only imagine the rest of the garment and curiosity was consuming him. He forced himself to look up again, only to meet red lips curved into a smirk. 

‘You probably know Pete Wentz?’ 

Brendon furrowed his brow and the flirty smirk was gone. 

‘Yes? He’s a good friend of mine.’ 

‘I'm Ryan Ross, a journalist assigned to write an article about him. People seem to get more interested in him since… ’ 

Now Brendon turned his face away from Ryan and looked genuinely disappointed. 

‘Yeah. His disappearance. I don't think I can help with that. I don't know where he is.’ 

Something in Ryan's gut twisted and he gently touched Brendon's arm without thinking, like he would trying to appease a fussy lover. The man gave him a scolding look and Ryan removed his hand. 

‘Please... I… I knew Pete once. Long time ago. I took this… case... for myself. I just want to know what happened. And write about it.’ 

This actually made Brendon glance at him again with a slightly kinder eye. 

'Go on. Tell me how you met him. And then I'll see what I can do.' 

'That's a private story.' 

'Then no dice.' 

Ryan groaned and walked across the empty, dark bookstore and accidentaly kicked a pair of shoes on his maneuver. They were high heels, probably the identical shade the lipstick on the stubborn stranger's lips. He came back to Brendon, who was calmly waiting in the same place. 

'Ok. I'll tell you. The night I turned twenty-one, back in Vegas, where I was born, I went to a bar with a bunch of friends and saw him there. Pete on stage appeared... ethereal, glimmering under the pink neon lights in a glittery jacket like a sad, but proud prince of a distant country. You can imagine. You can say I... I had a crush on him. I waited after the bar closed, hoping he'll go out and see me and I might get lucky. And I was. That's it. Happy?' 

The man tried not to giggle, but failed. 

'Yes, yes, I am.' 

When he stopped laughing he looked at the journalist seriously. 

'The way you said it was so... poetic and blatant at the same time. I coudn't help myself. You know, Hayley probably told you where I am because she thought you look honest. And you are. I haven't met someone like you in a long time.’ 

'Does it mean you'll answer my questions?' 

'Yes...' Brendon stepped closer to Ryan, raised two fingers, kissed them and pressed to Ryan's mouth. '...but tomorrow. At the bar.' 

When the journalist was comprehending what the hell just happened to him and what consequences will it have, Brendon collected his shoes and walked out the door leaving him alone.


End file.
